Behind the Mask

I waited an immeasurable amount of time for Peter to come back. After he tossed himself out the window (unfortunately after I confessed my pathetic love for him) I figured he'd be gone for an hour or so. I didn't want to leave, though I didn't want to face him when he came back either. I was torn right down the middle, and found myself pacing up and down the open floor of his apartment.

Once a good amount of time passed, I became concerned. We both knew what was out there waiting for him. It was just a matter of how many more times he could squeeze himself out of it. I didn't know how much more he could handle.

A little while later, I started to worry. If I wasn't pacing, I was playing musical chairs in all of the seating arrangements he had to offer, including the floor. It was late, my eyelids were droopy, and I considered going home, but I couldn't do it. 

I couldn't tell if I wanted to be there so I could slap him or kiss him, or if I wanted to yell or cry. I had no idea, but all I wanted was to be there when he landed on that balcony.

It was so late and I was so tired that I lied across his bed while I waited. By that point, I was sure something bad happened. I was afraid to turn on the news and see for myself. My emotions went haywire, my eyelids threatening to release tears and my throat threatening to release a scream. My fist asked to connect with the wall, but I held them all back. None of them would bring Peter home.

When I calmed down a bit, I realized I was truly in love with him. He was all I could think about anymore, especially when I was caught in a memory of Greg. I was nowhere near past the grieving process, and if anything Chase took me backwards. I thought that Peter brought me back to neutral, and he could be the one to start healing me, but I probably screwed that over with my big mouth.

I knew I loved him, and when I lied in his bed, I scrolled through the contacts on my phone. I stopped at the C's and decided that if Peter made it home, I would have to talk to Chase again, or at least do what he asked.

I must have drifted to sleep, because the wall-shaking sounds of thunder brought me in and out of consciousness.  Each time I woke up, I felt the bed next to me in hopes of touching a warm body, but I was disappointed each time.

By morning, it was brighter behind my eyelids. I could still hear the rain smattering against the windows and running through car tires outside.

The bed was still empty.

What if he didn't come back? What if he was gone, missing or dead? What would I say, how would I explain Spiderman's disappearance, let alone Peter Parker's? What the hell would I do without him?

I stopped breathing when I heard the refrigerator door close in the kitchen. I thought it was my imagination, but then I heard footsteps approaching the bedroom.

I used my sneaky eye trick, peeking under my eyelashes as if my eyes were closed. Thank God it was Peter, his wet hair and shirtless torso perhaps the closest thing I'd ever seen to a miracle.

He drank half of his glass of juice and set it down on his desk. I checked to see if he was harmed, scanning my eyes over every inch of his skin. I saw he was fine, but I didn't look away. I lost myself in the floppy dampness of his hair, the gentle curve of the muscles in his arms, and the defined shoulder blades in his back. God, I was in love with him.

He went to check the stormy weather outside before he finally turned to look at me. I closed my eyelashes a little more as an instinct. I could only see his dark outline against the windows as he slipped in the bed beside me.

He lounged on his side, propping his head up by his elbow. I heard him breathing, slow and deep. I could feel the heat of his body travelling across the blankets. My skin absorbed it, but it still formed goosebumps.

He was very close this time. I knew I was probably taking up the center of the bed myself, but my forehead was inches from his chest.

I wondered if he thought I was still sleeping. He must have stared at me for a while, because he didn't move. Then I thought he knew I was awake.

I flinched just a little when his fingertips brushed against my cheek. The area burned after his finger disappeared, only to return and brush it again. His touch was soft and certain, like he knew what it was doing to me.

He took his trail of fire down the side of my neck and across the base of it. On his way back, he dipped lower and traced the curved line of my collarbone.

My breathing was shallow. He had to know I was awake now. His fingertips lingered, drawing circles around my shoulder. He led them down my arm, around the crease of my elbow, and finished at my wrist. The goosebumps weren't going away anytime soon.

"You were worried about me, weren't you?" He murmured, using the same rhetorical question he used that one night when I came knocking and looking for answers.

I let out a sigh and started breathing again. "Where were you?" I asked sleepily. Somehow, I wasn't angry or upset anymore. I was just glad he was here, safe and sound.

He repeated the trail of his fingertips, starting at my cheek again. "It wasn't something I had to help with, just a car accident at an intersection."

I gulped when he swirled down my neck. "Why didn't you come home?"

"I wasn't tired, and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I spent most of the night thinking about things."

I considered it all in my head. While I was laying there creating the worst scenario possible, he was wandering around the city like a lost tourist.

I closed my eyes completely, because I couldn't believe he put me through that. "I hate you."

By then, his hand met up with mine again, but this time he laced our fingers together. "Love you, too." He said.

It took me a minute to register the words. When I did, my eyes sprung open to the grin on his face. I squinted a bit, searching for something in his eyes that hinted towards a joke like my expression of hate, but I found nothing. He was dead serious.

I couldn't control my blinking, let alone my smile. I still wasn't certain if he knew what I thought it meant, but he cleared that up quickly. He kissed me once, but I could tell he was waiting for me to pull him back into another one.

What started as a sweet welcome home turned into a much more heated greeting. The teasing kisses were replaced with deep and meaningful ones. Our conjoined hands weren't conjoined anymore, because they were distracted with other touchable skin. My mind wasn't focused on anything else but what I wanted, and I wanted Peter.

He lifted my shirt and his hands danced on the sensitive skin of my tummy, wandering places no one had ever been. Soon my shirt was gone entirely, and he replaced his hands with his lips.

I couldn't keep myself from tracing the bold lines carved in his chest, as well as the pattern of abs in his stomach. The entire form must have been sculpted by angels, or by God himself. I practically started whimpering when he stopped my wrist from touching the waistband of his pants.

"Are you sure this is --"

"Yes."

He laughed a bit at my certainty. "I want you to be absolutely sure."

"I am," I insisted, watching him carefully. "Are you sure?"

He blinked his eyes shut and opened them again. "Uh huh."

It made me even more impatient. "Then stop talking." I forced his neck down in another kiss that proved my point.

The combination of his breath on my neck, his hands tucked in mine, and our bodies entangled (with protection, of course) sent me to a different world where I didn't have anything else to care about. I didn't lose my brother, I wasn't involved with a drunken cop, and I didn't have to worry about Peter. He was there, as close as humanly possible, and he loved me like I loved him.

A while later, I cuddled into his chest, inhaling the beautiful scent of his skin as his protective arms held me in place. He had to be tired after making me worry all night long, but he didn't show any signs of sleeping.

I discovered that his hair was wet courtesy of the rain outside, and I could smell it on his skin as well. It was mostly dry now, sticking up in a few funny yet extremely sexy places.

"I love you," He said it this time, whispering it into my messy hair. "You have no idea."

I smiled in anticipation of hearing the two parts strung together. "I love you, too."

I waited a little for the love to be absorbed before I spoke again. "Peter?"

"Hmm?"

I drew a tiny box on his chest. "Don't you ever put me through that again."

I felt his entire body go cold. "I thought - I mean I enjoyed myself..."

I dropped my forehead to his chest and giggled. "No, no, me too. I mean going on late night adventures when you're wanted by criminals."

"Oh." I bet all my money he was blushing. "Okay, I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I outlined the box I drew again. "Do you really promise, or do you promise like you did about taking a day off?"

He noticed the chill on my bare back and pulled the sheet up and over my shoulder. He never really answered, but I didn't need one right away.

I knew I was asking him to choose between two things that he loved, and I already understood that Spiderman was his top priority. All he had to do now was decide which was better for him.